In the Beginning
by Exilo
Summary: Three tales. Three short stories. Horror, pain, betrayal, acceptance, and love. Featuring the cast of Band of Blood Brothers in their first missions, and how they all came to meet.
1. Show of Good Faith

_I've been promising this one for a while, and I wanted to get it up about two weeks ago, but conflicts with college caused me to delay this. Well, __its__ here now, and I hope you like it. Next week will be _Under the Crimson Banner._ R&R of course, and enjoy._

_**Show of Good Faith**_

"Dis is bullshit mon," Aloos muttered for the umpteenth time. He had positioned himself at the far end of the deck, squatted on his haunches, and was presently carving a hole in the wooden floor with one of his two daggers. A bow and quiver were strapped to his back. He wore a tight leather jumpsuit, that outlined his lean, muscular form. Crimson hair was tied back tightly into a ponytail.

"You're going to have to pay for that," Taff warned. A tauren, he was quite the opposite of the troll. Vast and muscular, his entire form was covered in a layer of short grey fur. Bovine in many aspects, he had polished his horns and brushed his fur, he had to look his best for the meeting. His heavy black and red chain armor fit snuggly, but clinked and clacked loudly with every shift of his weight. Presently, he was polishing his shield and mace.

"Fucking goblins. I'll punt dem off dere zeps before I pay for dis shit."

"I know it's not a fun concept, but these are our allies now. If they have a problem, we have to help them."

"Dat's bullshit. You tink dey give a fuck bout you? A fuck about me? A fuck bout da Horde? No. Deys using us. And dey will use us till we useful, den dey kill us."

Taff scratched at his snout. "Don't come," he offered.

"What?"

"Stay on the zeppelin and go back to Orgrimmar. If this is a trap, I don't want you to be hurt."

The troll snorted, grinding the tip of his dagger deeper into the wood. "Fuck you. Last ting I'll allow is youse to die a martyr. Den what, youse can use your shaman powers and come back as a ghost an call me a pussy? Yeah, you'd love dat, wouldn't you. No, if we die, I die first. Den who's da pussy?"

"Aloos," Taff grunted. "There is a very real possibility this is a trap, and that we will both end up dead.""Fuck you. We are in dis together. And we will tear our way through every walking corpse we have to. Stick a knife up da ice queen's backside. Turn her into a popsicle."

"We only do that if they prove to be a threat," Taff warned. "The Warchief has faith in the Dark Lady, and I have faith in him."

"Well dats great for youse. I hope you an your faith have a great time when deyse cooking you up for steak."

"They don't cook the meat when they cannibalize. They just eat it raw," Taff corrected.

"Well, least dey do something right."

"All most there Taffy," a goblin cackled, coming up beside the tauren. Interesting creatures, goblins were. They barely came up to Taff's knee, weighed about half as much as one of his horns, and enjoyed nothing more than risking life and limb. A wonder they could focus on much of anything long enough to design a functioning zeppelin. The Warchief, Thrall, had long made a pact with a sect of goblins, and now Orgrimmar and the Undercity were separated by nothing more than a three hour ride.

Was that good or bad, Taff wondered.

Presently, the Forsaken stayed with their Dark Lady, and the orcs stayed with their Warcheif. A sect of Forsaken had taken up residence in Thunderbluff, but they usually kept to themselves, never venturing from their subterranean dwelling. Taff had once ventured down there, for no other reason than to sate his curiosity. There was a certain lingering stench in the air, like carrion left in the hot Barrens' sun. He noticed that same odor as the zeppelin came into the Trisfal Glades.

He ventured out of the sun and into the cave, and there, as expected, he found the Forsaken. What he didn't expect was their reaction. Not anger or hate at his encroaching (after all this was his people's city). They just looked to him and nodded and went about their business. Pitiful creatures they were, emotions were stripped of them along with their life. Or perhaps it was some time after. Taff had heard of Forsaken who attempted to make contact with loved ones in their former life. They were always met with hatred and disgust. Pitiful creatures they were.

The floor beneath them shook, signifying the zeppelin had ground to a halt. "We've arrived at the Undercity," the goblin said, in his usual cackling voice. "We make our rounds three times a day. You know the schedule."

"Yes, thank you my friend."

"Your gold is thanks enough," he cackled again.The moment they stepped off the zeppelin, Taff and Aloos were greeted with a troupe of Forsaken, two armed with bastard swords and armored in old, heavy armor that their forms barely compensated. Or so it would appear. They were stronger than their scrawny build would imply.

The other two dressed in ragged clothing, barely held together at the seams, just like their wearer. Two combatants, and two magic users, a common archetype for a squad.

"Hail," the tauren said. "I am Blood Guard Commander Taff Wolfhoof, here on behalf of the Warchief, to aid your campaigns against your enemies. This is my sub-commander, Aloos."

The Forsaken, the four of them, huddled together and talked in their raspy gutterspeak. At last, one stepped forward, and said in orcish, "Hail, I am Senior Sergeant Jonathon Eck. This is Scout Elizabeth Eck, Sergeant Rupert Franklin, and Sergeant Allen Joseph. We are too escort you to the Undercity's royal quarters, where you will meet with the Dark Lady."

"Fuck, dis is a fucking trap," Aloos muttered. He was speaking in troll, assumingly so that the undead could not understand. "We just going ta waltz right into da viper's pit."

"I can assure," Eck said. "You will not be harmed. Yes, I am fluent in your native tongue, comrade Aloos."

"How?" he snarled angrily.

"Languages are a skill of mine. I am fluent in orcish, common, our gutterspeak, dwarven, and thalassian. I know enough taur-ahe and troll to get by."

"Don't tink I'm dumb," Aloos snarled again. "Youse here, so dats we can't talk without youse knowing." Aloos nudged the tauren, and Taff looked down to his comrade. Aloos made several gestures with his hands. Taff nodded, and returned the gestures with several of his own.

"What are you doing?" Eck asked.

"Wese got another in da squad, usually. He's on another mission, so he couldn't come. He's an orc, a big, angry, very protective orc who would kill anyone dat harmed us. He's missing his tongue, so he's gotta talk wit his hands. Don't know dis language, do ye? Bit obscure."

"It's best not to leave the Dark Lady waiting," Eck said. "If you would all please come with us."

Jonathon and Elizabeth Eck walked in the front. Taff and Aloos followed behind. And Franklin and Joseph followed after them.

_Bullshit_, Aloos signed. _Now we prisoners._

_Don't say that,_ Taff responded.

_Bullshit,_ he signed again.

The Undercity was something to marvel at. Safely hidden beneath the ruins of Loredarn bustled a metropolis that rivaled the mountainous Thunderbluff or the warrior city of Orgrimmar. There was the stench again: rotten, rank, it flooded Taff's nostrils. He restrained the reflex to gag, seeing it as disrespectful to his hosts, and looked firmly at Aloos to be sure he wouldn't say anything foolish.

"Its fuckin freezing down here."

Too late.

"We are underground," Eck explained.

"You must be freezing. Do you even feel cold?"

The female Eck spoke this time. "We feel something. I'm not sure if it's cold, or if we remember we're supposed to feel cold. The plague works in mysterious ways. Our blood has long dried up, but we still bleed. Our hearts still pumps, but what I'm not sure. We still need to eat. It's just different than you."

Jonathon Eck cleared his throat and gave a stern look to the female. He didn't want her explaining too much.

"What of magic?" Taff asked. "I am a shaman. I would like to know if my magic would help or hurt you."

"Holy Light should burn us," Eck muttered. "Like it burns the Scourge. But it doesn't. It heals our wounds. Odd really."

"Not really," the tauren grinned. "The Light judges those it touches. It burns the Scourge. It doesn't burn you. It judges you as worthy to be healed."

"You are a shaman, commander?"

"Yes," the bull nodded."I was, and am a priest. I dedicated my life to preaching the good word, helping other, cleansing the sick. And the moment that I need the Light most, it abandoned me. I would appreciate if you not preach to me of the Light's benevolence."

"I am sorry if I offended you," Taff conceded.

_Ornery bunch,_ Aloos signed.

Taff nodded, but didn't respond further.

For the marvels of the Undercity, the Dark Lady's throne room was nothing spectacular. In fact, there was no throne. There was no elaborate artwork covering the walls. No slaves or servants pampering to her every command. There was only the Dark Lady herself, her majordomo Varimathras, and several high ranking Forsaken officials, all hovering over a map of the glades and plaguelands.

"My queen," Eck said, and the four Forsaken bowed to one knee in a display of allegiance and submission.

"I won't be your queen for much longer unless we can cease the Scarlet's aggression," she muttered, eyes never rising from the map.

"My queen, the Warchief's soldiers have arrived."This caused her ears to twitch and her eyes to stray from the table so she could examine the troll and tauren respectively. She approached, gliding gracefully over the ground and approaching. Undeath hadn't claimed her grace, or her beauty. In fact, her natural attractiveness seemed only complimented by her current state. She seemed mysterious, elegant. There was a trace of intimidation in her glare, but nothing terrifying.

It was Varimathras that scared Taff.

As solidly muscular as the tauren was, the dreadlord dwarfed him. With ease he could rip the bull limb from limb. But Varimathras was under the control of the Dark Lady, or so he hoped.

Taff lowered to one knee and looked to the ground. Aloos did the same after a momentary pause. "Dark Lady," they said in unison.

"You show me respect, that's good."

"You are deserving of our respect," Taff said, not rising as he had not yet been ordered too.

"At ease," she said. "Thrall sent you, to investigate our affairs?"

"I can assure you Dark Lady, we are here only to help with whatever you need."

"The Warchief desires to cement our allegiance?"

"He wished to display that you are not alone in this world," Taff informed.

That caused the Dark Lady to laugh. That she was capable of such an emotion surprised both Aloos, Taff, and perhaps even their four Forsaken escorts. "The Alliance abandoned us. The Light abandoned us. Do you believe that we believe that you won't abandon when our usefulness has ended? That's why you made this allegiance. We are cannon fodder. We can keep the Alliance, the Scarlet Crusaders, and the Scourge busy while you are safe across the sea. They'll slaughter us first, giving you plenty of time to prepare."

"Regardless of our reason for joining in this alliance, we are here now, to help you in any way we can. Trust needs to be gained on both sides. It is my hope that our presence here displays our good will," the bull said.

The Dark Lady smiled her thin smile as her eyes flicked over the tauren. She was shorter than him, high elf females were usually quite short, and yet she stood with such confidence one would think she was twenty feet tall. "Yesterday, two of my people were murdered. Find their killer, make him pay, and you will show your good intentions. Senior Sergeant Eck."

"Yes my queen."

"You will stay with the emissaries. Aid them in any way you can." In gutterspeak, she added: "Do not let them out of your sight."

"As you wish, my queen."

They bowed once, and stepped backwards, bowed again, before turning and leaving the throne room, and leaving the Dark Lady to her strategies and plots. Beseeched on all sides by zealous enemies, every order, every action had to be done with care. One mistake, one mess up could mean death to the Dark Lady and her people. They cared for each other, of that Taff was certain. And if there was compassion in their heart, then there was hope.

"What can you tell me about the attacks?" Taff asked. The other three Forsaken had broken from the party, and now it was only he, Aloos and Senior Sergeant Eck moving through the Undercity towards the elevator that would take them to the surface.

"The town of Brill serves as the first line of defense for the Undercity. Unfortunately, that also makes it a prime target for aggression. Two of our citizens, town guards, were taken in the night. We discovered them the next day. Their bodies had been burned and pulped. We identified one by the ring he wore, but the other, we just assume. They were two of our soldiers."

"Do you have suspects?"

Eck shrugged. "The Alliance, the Scarlet Crusaders, the Scourge. Perhaps it wasn't even formal, perhaps a passing human decided it would be fun. It matters not, they must be avenged. Aggression against the Forsaken will not be tolerated."

"Scout Elizabeth Eck, she is your wife?" Taff asked. Aloos lifted his brow and looked to the grey bull, to the undead, and to the bull again.

The undead was silent for a while, his stride never breaking. Walking must have been hard for him, he had a sort of forced waddle: stabbing his staff forward before taking a step, dragging his left leg after him. It seemed as if he'd collapse at any moment.

"How does that affect the mission."

"It doesn't," Taff admitted. "But I'm curious."

Eck continued his walk. "We were married in life. I don't know if a union in the eyes of the Light applies to our present condition."

"Tauren don't believe in marriage. We believe in mates. And when you love your mate, that is enough in the eyes of the ancestors."

"Trolls believe in mating for life," Aloos chuckled. "We also believe in frequent reincarnation."

"Do you love her?" Taff asked.

Eck was attempting to walk faster, but the tauren and the troll could both move in long strides and easily keep pace with the waddling Forsaken.

"Do you love her?" Taff repeated.

"There is no room in our existence for such petty emotions," he snarled.

"Do you love her?" Taff said, one more time.

"Yes," he muttered through clenched teeth.

_The point of that?_ Aloos questioned.

_Good __way to __measure a man_ Taff responded.

Brill was not the destination, so the trio made a wide loop around the city limits and continued into the tree.

"The bodies were found here," Eck said, squatting to his haunches, but relying on his staff for balance. Fingernails dug through the ground, upturning earth. He lifted his hand, and displayed the ashes, white and chalky dotted throughout the dead, brown soil.

"When was it?" Taff asked.

"Yesterday. We've had near constant raids by the Scarlet Crusaders. Zealots," he spat. "This fits their style. The burning is more for superstition than anything else. We aren't as indestructible as some seem to think. But I doubt it was them."

"I've fought da Scourge more den once," Aloos said. "Dey don't die easy."

"We are not the Scourge. The Scourge are mindless and can push themselves beyond what a normal mind can handle. They keep going until they collapse into themselves. Shallow husks of bone. That's all they are. That's not us."

"Why do you rule out the Scarlet Crusaders?" the tauren asked.

"They would burn the bodies, but this is all too subtle. They would move into the town and they would slaughter any that they find. The criminals only killed two of ours, two who were out on patrol. The Scarlet Crusaders wouldn't stop there.

"The Scourge wouldn't burn the bodies. They wouldn't see the point. The Alliance, like the Scarlet Crusaders, wouldn't stop with just two. They would come with their full force and attempt to crush us. The Scarlet Crusaders and the Alliance, together. Therefore, we believe it was just something random. Perhaps a human with a vendetta was just passing through. Or one of the other Alliance vermin. The dwarves, the gnomes. Just for the amusement."

"Human," Aloos confirmed. "Probably a paladin."

"How could you know that?" Eck demanded.

The troll waltzed over to a nearby bush and squatted down, delicately pointing to the ground. "Footprints. Bootprints. Not big enough for a dwarf, an not small enough for a gnome, so dese are most likely human. Two sets, two human. They were heavy nuff ta leave deep tracks. Dey probally wore heavy armor. Probably paladins. Dey went dis way," he said, pointing to the north.

"You are a good tracker," Eck noted.

"Comes wit da territory a being one a da brutish races," he chuckled.

Taff scratched at his chin. "The attack was yesterday? Follow the tracks, and we may find the humans."

"Then what?" Aloos asked.

The tauren and the Forsaken turned to the troll, questioning looks across their face.

"We supposed ta bring em ta justice. Dat Horde justice, or Forsaken justice? Cause da Warchief is trying to build a government based on law and trial. An da Forsaken kill anyone dey don't like."

"I haven't killed you yet," Eck muttered.

Aloos slithered close to the Forsaken, and leaned low so that they were nearly eye level. Nearly: the troll was sure that his advantage in height was apparent. He eased one of his daggers out of its sheath, and slowly moved it up to the Forsaken's throat, dragging the tip from his collar bone to chin. "You listen careful mon. You think you and your brittle little bones could do shit ta me? I could carve out ye heart fore you manage to breathe any a ye curses. I burn ye corpse, make it look like a human did it. Get me?"

"Aloos," Taff started. "If you harm him without reason, I'll kill you myself. And sergeant, if you present a threat to me or my comrade, I will kill. Do you both understand?"

Aloos slide his dagger into the oiled leather sheath on his belt. "Aye mon."The Forsaken nodded. "We should get going. The humans have a days travel on us."

The bull nodded, and began to take several heavy strides down the road. The troll followed pace easy. Long legs and an athletic build let him glide after. Eck had to struggle. In life, he'd been a cripple: born with a defective leg that caused him to hobble around at all times. In life, he'd become a healer, in hopes of finding some way to cure his birth defect. There was nothing to heal, no damage to undue. It was how he was born.

Now he hobbled weakly after the tauren and troll, desperate not to appear weak before his peers. It was hard to appear strong when he tripped and smashed into the ground. Eck cursed in his gutterspeak as he pushed himself upright.

"Are you alright?" the bull asked.

Eck hissed. His hip popped in and out of alignment and he relied heavily on his staff for support. Before he could oppose, Taff picked him up and held him in one arm.

"What are you doing?" the undead demanded.

"Stop whining," Taff grunted. "You can't run, I can."

So he ran. Powerful legs pushed the great bull forward. Twigs and tree limbs snapped instantly as they collided with the vast, muscular form. He stopped just as suddenly, hooves ground into the soil and the tauren rooted himself still. He dropped Eck carefully, before lifting his snout and sniffing the air."They're close," he grunted. "Charred meat and tobacco."

They moved slower now: passed from tree to tree, staying to the ground. In a slight clearing, they found the two humans: camped down for the night, surrounding a roaring fire. They were drinking, Taff could smell the pungent tang of ale even from the distance. He settled low to the ground, before turning to his two comrades.

"Two of them," he whispered, huddling close. "We're not sure these are the criminals though."

"They are in Forsaken territories. That alone warrants their death."

"No," Taff growled. "Can I trust you?"

"Yes," Eck said after a pause.

"Aloos, take Eck, flank them and be ready to engage."

"Ya mon," he smiled, before tapping the Forsaken's shoulder and gesturing for him to follow.

Taff sighed as he stood up, and made a circled to the front of the clearing. He took his maul off his belt and shield off his back, before approaching the camp. Seeing him, the humans stumbled to their weapons, snatching their hammers off the ground and taking a battle stance.

"Peace," Taff said, lifting a hand. He poked a thick finger into his tabard. "Taff."

Silent as a snake, Aloos slithered to a position behind the two human. He slid both daggers over oiled leather, the glistening steel reflecting the fire's light. The humans didn't notice him, they're focus was on the tauren. Eck, a little clumsily, stumbled into position. The creak of his bones: joint grinding on joint, seemed as loud as if he yelled, but were barely audible over the fire's cackles.

"You killed two Forsaken?" Taff said, struggling for clarity in the common language.

"Flank him," said one of the humans. "They'll be steak on the menu tonight."

"He's a big one, keep him off balance," the other said. They moved in unison, moving wide around opposing sides of the bull, who took a stronger grip on his mace.

"Not here to fight," he assured. "You killed Forsaken?"

Aloos burst out of the shadows, a blurry image of shinning dagger, streaked across the dark forest. He smashed into the human that approached from the left, dragging him furiously to the ground. He lifted his dagger over his head, desiring to drive it through the human's skull, but the human caught him by the wrists and struggled against it. It was only when Eck lifted his hand, and focused dark magic upon the human. He writhed in pain, and lost his grip on the troll. Aloos leaned his full weight down, and let the sharp tip of the dagger pass through the human's left eye socket.

The second human proved to have more fight in him. With savagery, he swung his mace against the tauren, Taff could barely block the assault with his shield. The poured steel of the guard bent and yielded under the force of the strike. Taff lifted his hand and focused a blast of nature's magic that caught the human by surprise. He stumbled back, but managed to parry as Taff swung his mace over his head.

Eck focused his shadow magic, before releasing them in a shrieking blur. The human stumbled back, holding his head and gritting his teeth, but retained enough composure to lift his hands and summon an eloquent shield of Light to surround him. Taff swung his hammer, but it bounced back harmlessly. Again, he struck, and again it caused no damage to the human.

"You can't sustain that," Eck hissed. The human had begun a slow withdrawal, taking careful steps backward, holding his hammer in a defensive stance. Aloos didn't advance with the tauren and the Forsaken. Instead he had strung his bow and pulled the elastic wire to his chest, taking careful aim for the human. He'd rather put his dagger between the man's ribs and twist, but beggars can't be choosers. An arrow through the throat would do fine.

"You think you can beat the might of the Alliance?" His hand moved to his belt, and for the first time Taff noticed the explosives. A simple pull of the detonation pin and the human began to laugh.

Taff swung his thick heavy arm and hit Eck in the chest. The scrawny Forsaken was thrown backwards and collided with the troll. Together they rolled out of danger of the explosion.

Undead anatomy was still a mystery, even to the undead. None were entirely sure if they could feel sensations of touch, or if it was just their memory. Did Eck feel something, or just remember he was supposed to feel something when a hot wave of heat brushed over his skin.

Eck's mind spun. His vision reeled. He became vaguely aware that he was still resting on top of the troll. Aloos stirred, and pushed the Forsaken away before rolling roughly to his feet. "Taff!" he screamed, running to the grey bull. "Fuck," he muttered, shaking the tauren furiously in a vain attempt at waking him. He took hold of the Forsaken by his robe and lifted him off the ground. "Help him."

He didn't need to be told. The tauren had landed on his back, which was good. Eck doubted he and the troll alone could roll the vast creature over. Long, bony fingers searched for a pulse, and when he couldn't find one, he pushed his ear to the tauren's chest. His armor and fur were nearly incinerated, scraps of metal and singed hair were all that were left. Eck brushed them away.

"His heart stopped," he muttered, more to himself than the troll.

Hands glowed with holy light and Eck touched the tauren, transferring the healing touch."Why isn't it working," Aloos demanded.

"I'm out of practice," Eck admitted. "I haven't used these magic in a long time. I have to give him CPR. Lift his head."

Eck tore off his robe and bundled the cloth into a pillow as the troll took the tauren's head by the horns and lifted him up. Eck placed the bundle under his head and eased it back down. "You have to breath for me. My lungs aren't strong enough. I push his chest seven times. Four breathes. Then we repeat, alright?"

"Aye," Aloos nodded.

Eck placed his hands, one on top of the other, on the tauren's chest before rhythmically thrusting forward. Seven times, and he gestured for Aloos. The troll put his fingers over the tauren's lips before breathing into his mouth. Four times. The tauren didn't wake. Eck placed his hands again and pushed against the tauren's breast with regular beats. When Aloos breathed a third breath, Taff coughed and pushed the troll away.

Aloos embraced the bull around the neck and squeezed him tight. "What happened?" Taff asked, taking deep breathes.

"Be careful mon," Aloos said.

"Your heart stopped," Eck explained. "The shock from the proximity of the explosion."

"You saved me?" Taff asked. "Thank you."Eck shifted nervously. "You need proper attention right away." He turned to the flaming scraps of flesh that had formerly been the human. "The Dark Lady will be pleased that our soldiers have been avenged."

Taff stood up. Aloos slipped under his arm and helped him to stand. Eck approached, paused, and extended his hand to the tauren's singed chest, counting the heartbeats. "We need to get you medical attention or you will die. Come on."

Slowly, to compensate the tauren's irregular heart, the trio set off in the direction of the town of Brill.


	2. Under the Crimson Banner

**No love for Mr. Wolf. Oh well. Here is chapter 2, which focuses on Lunn's initiation into the Horde. I like this chapter, and i think it goes deeper into the conflict that Lunn has joining the Horde. Band of Blood Brothers took place after she'd been in the Horde for sometime, so there was only a thin veil of distain between her and others every now and then. This was interesting, and got to explore the night elf a little more.**

_**Under the Crimson Banner**_

Considering his current surroundings were built by living humans, and used by the undead, Taff Wolfhoof moved with considerable ease. His horns scraped the ceiling, so he had to lean forward a bit, and he had to slip through the doorway by walking sideways, but he still managed to retain an air of grace until he reached his chair, reinforced to support his weight, and sat down.

"General Pantherfoot," he said, acknowledging the night elf that shared the room. She was seated across the table; leather wraps bound her hands behind her back and her feet to the chair legs. Chains were locked around her chest to keep her down. Druids could be tricky to keep restrained, so her Forsaken captors saw no reason to underestimate her. They would have liked to gag her, but then she couldn't talk.

"You can call me Lunn," she offered.

"General Pantherfoot," he said again. "I warned you, that if you should ever step foot within fifty yards of a Horde settlement, I wouldn't be able to halt your execution. Yet here you are."

"Here I am," she nodded.

"You entered the city limits of Brill, and allowed yourself to be captured. You were armed only with this," he took a small, stubby dagger from his belt and held it between two thick fingers. "Why?"

"I have nowhere else to go. My family has disowned me. My government has exiled me. They'll kill me without a second thought. At least you guys have the decency to interrogate me first."

"Bare in mind, general, whatever sway I have has been used to save you from interrogation. The Forsaken would have cut off every one of your limbs, branded you, pulled your teeth out, whatever it took. Even after you revealed everything you know, they would continue until they got bored. I can't save you from execution. Before the day is done, you will be dead." The tauren casually looked down at the dagger. Holding it between his fing, he pushed his thumb to the blade and bent it into a useless scrape. "Why are you here?""I have nowhere else to go. I thought that, perhaps, you may desire my services."

"That the Horde may desire your services," he corrected.

"Turok still alive?""Yes."

"Danem?"

"No. He was killed. By one of your paladins."

"One of the Alliance's paladins," she corrected.

Taff sighed. "You could live out your days in the goblin's towns, or the wilderness, or Moonglade, and just wait a few years for your comrades to cool off. They will accept you, eventually. You're too valuable to leave be."

Lunn sighed, shifting with her chains. They were uncomfortable more than painful, but she still wished the tauren would take them off. "From the time I was born, I was expected to fight. When my affinity for druidism was discovered, expectations were even higher. I was taught to fight, and killed, as soon as I could walk. I don't know how to do anything else."

"General Pantherfoot. I don't think you understand. Now, you are an exile. You're just a child who has made a mistake, and you've been given a timeout. But if you stand with us, if you sing our war songs and hold our flag, they will see you as a monster, just like they see us. Now, there is the hope of returning to your family, one day, however far in the future it may be. But if you fight under the crimson banner, you can never go back."

"I understand," she nodded.

"No, you don't," he growled, leaning back.

"How do I not?" she asked. "You think you're the only one who's ever been hunted, who's ever been tortured, who's ever spilled blood? How arrogant can you be?"

Without a word, the tauren pushed his seat out and stood up, before walking out of the room, his heavy hooves clip clopping on the ground. He returned a moment later, with an orc and an undead in tow. Lunn flinched at the sight of the two company.

"General Pantherfoot, these are my comrades: Eck, and Cerberus."

Lunn offered a polite nod. She struggled to keep from showing the revolution she felt, at the scent of the two alien bodies.

"The last time we worked together, the majority of my squad were druids, so you and they got along well. It was the orcs that were in command of the squad that I had to convince, that you were not the enemy. You never associated with them; you stayed as far away from them as you could, and the trolls. You never ate with them, you barely fought alongside them. Why is that?"

Lunn bit her lip. "I'm not sure."

"I respect your race," Taff said, pulling his chair out and sitting down. "And I respect you, more than you realize. You are strong, smart, cunning. But deep inside of you is a hatred, for Cerberus, for Eck. Perhaps you are not aware of it, but it is there."

Lunn shivered.

"Join the Horde, and you will not always have the luxury of working with myself, or with fellow druids. You will be expected to fight side by side with orcs, and with trolls, and with Forsaken. Now general, do you believe, that you can.""Yes," she said.

"I don't believe you," he said, shaking his head. "And for that reason, I cannot put one of my comrades at risk by recommending that you be offered a position within the Horde."

Lunn put her head down, and let her indigo hair fall into her face. "Please," she whimpered.

Taff sighed.

"I do hate the orc," she muttered. "I hate everything about him. I can smell the demon's corruption in him. I can see that beneath that façade of civilization he is nothing more than an animal. He, none of his kind, can control their bloodlust. All he can do it hide it behind a veil of nobility. And if you think any different, you are digging your own grave.

"And I hate that corpse. Because he should be eradicated from this land. His very touch burns and destroys nature. His presence causes the lands to cry. He is a monster who should welcome the idea of death, and if the Scarlet Crusade were to march into this town and slaughter all they found, I wouldn't be able to keep myself from doing a dance of glee.

"But I am a soldier. And I will perform my duties as they are ordered of me. My kind fought alongside the Horde. My kind now break bread with the humans and dwarves. Give me a chance, give me a mission, and if I fail I will take my own life. But give me a chance to prove myself."

Taff, in the lumpy orcish tongue, said something to Cerberus. Cerberus responded with several hand gestures. The tauren turned to the Forsaken, and spoke again. The Forsaken, clearly bothered, hissed something angrily. It was impossible for Lunn to follow what they were saying, but she pretended to listen. Though she doubted it, by pretending to understand, perhaps she could fool the trio into believing she did understand their tongue.

Taff turned back to Lunn and sighed, heavy shoulders rising and falling. "I will talk with my superiors. Perhaps a test is in order. The Horde is suffering. We haven't the numbers, or the resources, or the technology to compete with the Alliance should war break out. You're too valuable to leave be."


	3. Brotherhood

_Not the best of the three. I had the rough idea of this when writing BBB, but it didn't seem necessary with the flow of the story. After that, I continued refining it on and off for about a year until I put it on the shelf. Once I decided to write __**In the Beginning**__ I figured I could dust this one off and finally post it. In this story, I'd say that __**Show of Good Faith**__ is the best, followed closely by __**Under the Crimson Banner**__ and this is a distant third. Someone suggested elaborating on Shaak's past, which I think is a great idea, but I don't know if anything will ever come of that. At the moment, I don't have any plans, its just a distant idea. Well, thanks for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed this. Next week, I'll post __**Being Horde**__ (see profile). See you then._

_**Brotherhood**_

South.

Travel south. To Orgrimmar. To the Warcheif.

The sun was slowly setting beneath the rim of the tree line, to the orc's right, so he knew that forward was south. To Orgrimmar. To the Warcheif. Though he believed he was going to die long before he ever reached the city.

He had to walk with his jaws open or the blood would pool in his mouth and he'd drown. He'd still swallowed a lot of his blood, and not for the first time he wondered which was more of a threat: loosing the precious ebony liquid, or swallowing too much of it down. Or maybe he'd just collapse from exhaustion. The animals of the Ashenvale forest would see to his death.

The orc looked down at the hand that still dragged the battle axe. He'd taken it off of a guard he'd killed, when he was consumed by that the fury and anger, blinded by the rage that tore through his captors and left him free deep within the forest. It was doing nothing but slowing him down. He didn't even have the strength to lift it, let alone swing it with any amount of efficiency. He dragged it behind him. A line was carved in the soil, following him from the prison he'd escaped from to his current whereabouts. Any idiot could follow it and find him: weak and on the brink of death. His head would look nice on someone's mantle.

The orc heard the horse before he saw it. It was a beautiful chestnut mare, adorned with polished armor. Its rider was a human, a woman, armored in heavily polished golden plate and armed with a large sword strapped to her back.

Behind her, he noticed a gnome woman as well, riding the robotic chickens her kind loved so much. Typical, he thought, for the Alliance vermin to travel in number. He doubted she would think of attacking him if it were one on one, even in his weakened state. But with the numbers advantage, she wouldn't hesitate to engage.

The human climbed off her horse and made her way to the orc. Accepting his fate, he let the battle axe slip out of his hand and fell to his knees. It could be worse, he decided. Death at the hands of the enemy had more of an appeal than collapsing, and allowing the jungle cats to have their meat.

"Quick?" he asked. His voice was gargled and drowned in the blood, words were hard to pronounce without his tongue, but he hoped she would understand.

"What does he mean?" the human asked. The orc had a basic knowledge of common, if only from his time in the camps.

"I think, he thinks you're going to kill him," the gnome squeaked.

The human chuckled a tad, before taking a canteen off her belt and throwing it to the orc. Without another word, she mounted her steed. She and the gnome rode past him.

The orc didn't move for a long time. Eventually, he opened the canteen and sniffed at the contents. Smelling nothing wrong, he spat out the blood in his mouth and took a long drink of water. The water was stale, but the taste brought a tear to his eye and eased the scratching of his parched throat. Gathering his axe, he continued south. South toward Orgrimmar.

---

"Damn it," Aloos muttered. "I am so damn lost."

The troll lowered to his haunches to gather his thoughts. "Fucking elves," he spat. "Panther humping bastards. Everyone of them."

Approximately two weeks ago, the night elves and their Alliance comrades had begun a campaign of aggressive pushes into the orc's territories. They had set up a few extra bases: hastily assembled with tents and patrols, and grown a little extra hostile to anyone who gets near. The Warsong clan, fearing the night elves' growing strength, sent in a spy. She was a troll, a new recruit. Did a few operations, turned a few heads. 

"Shoulda sent me," he muttered. "Sensitivity demands the best."

Instead they sent the troll girl, and she'd gotten caught. None were sure of how much she actually knew, but anything she knew could be used against them. None were sure how long she would last, Aloos the night elves could be more torturous than demons and fel orcs. Aloos was ordered to fix the problem.

He didn't like killing comrade. He didn't mind killing, but to execute one of his own left a certain sickness in the pits of his stomach. But he did it, quick and painless. And he knew, should he ever be captured, someone would be sent to silence him. It was not an idea he liked, but one he accepted.

"Panther humpers," he spat.

He'd done the dark deed, and gotten out of the base just fine. But making his way through the woods, a night elf stumbled upon him. He had killed her, cut open her throat like the humans did pigs, but not before she called out to one of her sisters. He had killed that elf too, drove a dagger into her backside. Then, turning her around, he jammed a second dagger into her stomach, and dragged it down to gut her. There was a look in her eyes, a realization that this was the end, that she had been killed, though he wasn't sure which she found more troubling: that she had been killed or that a troll had killed her.

Dying in his arms, she whispered some sort of plea. He remembered thinking, as he pulled the daggers out and whipped the blood off on his pant leg, what a shame he couldn't speak darnassian.

Aloos had to go south towards the Crossroads. There, he could ride a wyvern to Orgrimmar and tell of his success. He doubted her would make it that far.

The forests were alive with elves. They snuck amongst the leave, waiting, watching, stalking. They were hunting Aloos. They didn't know it was him, but they knew one of the Horde had snuck into their base, and that creature of the Horde needed to die.  
Though, if he had to admit, it wasn't the hunting parties that scared him. Elves, bigoted and egotistical that they were, would never admit that a troll could avoid being found as they could. They would never believe a troll could fight as effectively as they could. That's why he'd managed to beat both elves with relative ease, they had underestimated him.

"Pasty faced, glowing eyed, purple skinned, long eared, tree hugging, panther humping, hippies."

He wished he had Plisken, his raptor. His legs were tired and his feet hurt. These forest were different than his jungle homelands. The ground was twiggy and rocky and sharp, his wide feet were torn and scrapped. "When day make shoes for trolls?" he muttered.

Then he heard it: a twig snapping. Not an elf, no elf would make such a noise. But he was still in Alliance territories, which meant it may have been one of the elves' comrades. A human, or a dwarf, clumsy, stupid. But their numbers gave them advantages.

He slithered behind a tree, slowly pulling the daggers out of the sheaths. He could kill up to two he decided, any more than that and he would slink away to fight another day. It was not cowardice, it was a business decision. The profit of killing a few extra Alliance did not outweigh the deficit of dying. Losing his life was not something that scared Aloos, but it was not something he pursued either.

He was surprised when instead of a human or dwarf, an orc stumbled out of the trees, angrily thrashing about as he struggled for some semblance of balance. He fell to the ground, and managed to crawl three more feet before collapsing.

Aloos didn't approach immediately. He'd heard horror stories involving the Alliance: when the humans caught an enemy, they would torture and beat him, before releasing him. And they would follow as the prisoner, dazed and hurt and scared and confused, stumbled back to his comrades. Knowing the location of the enemy's base, the Alliance can plan for the attack.

But there was no one in the trees, no elf waiting to spring upon him or dwarf sniper nestled in the brush. Still holding both daggers, Aloos approached.

The orc wore tattered rags that barely clung together. Exposed skin showed countless scars and gashes, marks of honor and victory and the hundreds of fights the orc had survived. His clothing and skin was damp and slick with black blood.

"Mon?" he asked, rolling the orc onto his back.

The orc's face was painted with an ebony sheen. Aloos checked for wounds, but didn't find any until he opened the orc's mouth.

"Damn," he groaned. "Dat is gross."

The bleeding seemed to have stopped. Never the less, the orc had lost a great deal of blood. If he received medical attention, there was a chance he'd survive, but even that was slim.

"I ought ta leave you mon. Dumb greenskin. Ye dug dis hole. I gots to look out for myself.

"Don't look at me like dat. Like ye wouldn't just abandon me without a second thought. You fuck up, you die. Natural selection. Dumb an weak, dey die an the smart and strong live."

Aloos squatted down. "Corse, we trolls ain't too smart. We ain't too strong. We got our lands taken by a buncha fish men. Least the tauren got beat by centaurs, dey pretty scary. We'd a died if not for you orcs, stupid greenskins."

He looked to the orc. He hadn't moved at all, he wondered if he was dead. "Fuck," he spat, hoisting the orc onto his shoulder, than shifting him into a fireman's carry. "Ye moher fucking owe mi."

If progress was hard before, it was nearly impossible now. The orc was lighter than most others of his kind, skinny and starved to the brink of death. He was still heavy, and weighted heavy on the troll's shoulder. Things got even harder when the orc started to thrash about. Aloos's balance waned. He fell, the orc fell on top of him, forcing the breath out of his lungs.

Aloos shifted his weight and rolled the orc off of him, before mounting the struggling greenskin. "Stop," he warned, putting his dagger at the orc's throat. "Ye be of da Horde. I be of da Horde. Ye get me mon? No need ta fight, no need to scream, least ye want every elf in da forest ta hear."

The orc blinked and nodded.

"What ye name?"

The orc tried to speak, but it came out as a low, inaudible growl. Sighing, he kneeled down and spelled CERBERUS into the ground with his thick index finger.

"Well Cerberus, I'm Aloos. How ye doing?"

FINE.

"Ye lost a lot of blood mon, ye think you can travel?"

The orc nodded.

Aloos helped the orc to his feet, looped a thin arm over his shoulders and aided his steps. "Well mon, nother two miles till we out of dese trees. Think ye can make it."  
Cerberus grunted and nodded.

"Youse a tough mother fucker. Nice an strong. Well mon, I reckon dis is da beginning of a beautiful friendship."


End file.
